Overcoming Insanity
by River Tam
Summary: My name is David Gordon, and I am not okay. -Please read the author's note...read and review. Lizzie/Gordo, Miranda/Larry-
1. Loss

****AN: Please read the authors note at the bottom.****

_Italics are Gordo's journal._

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><p><strong>Overcoming Insanity<strong>

_April 17__th__, 2004_

_I've drafted and redrafted this story so many times it's hard to believe it was ever true. I sat down and omitted parts so people would feel that, hey, this man is just like me. I rewrote it again and again erasing tidbits and pieces in hopes that it would make sense. The reality is always much harder to accept than fantasy. The fact is everyone is broken, and people lie, and relationships fall apart._

_Things change and people do, too. And sometimes you can't get back what you've lost. Sometimes you can turn around before it's too late. Sometimes it's too late to turn around. I've tried to rewrite this story so I would sound as sane as possible, but as I learned to know who I really was, I noticed one key factor about myself._

_I am not sane._

_I was raised normal. I grew up with two loving parents, and two very wonderful best friends. I even fell in love with the most normal girl in the world. When I turned seventeen, it all fell apart. You see, my parents, they died in a car accident. I fell apart. I was raised by them; I didn't know how to live without them. And, really, how can you live without your parents? You spend your entire life learning to love them, then eventually it progresses to hate, and then you love them again…when it's too late._

_My name is David Gordon._

_I'm a writer, producer, and director of my own company._

_And I am not well._

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><p>Gordo quietly sat, staring at the wall of his apartment, waiting to see if anything would change. The message light flashed repeatedly in the background. Lizzie had called seventeen times in the last hour, checking up and making sure he was okay. No, of course he wasn't okay. He would never be okay.<p>

He'd moved out of his parent's house at sixteen, officially emancipated, and living on his own, working at a restaurant in Sacramento. He felt his parents were smothering him, and he needed to grow up without their help. He called it freeing his wings so he could fly. His apartment was tiny, cramped, and messy. Pages upon pages of manuscripts were stacked against the walls. None were finished.

His dream was to be a writer, a movie director. He'd always had that dream, ever since he was old enough to hold a camera. And then, he gave up.

Yet one single person always had hope in him.

The same person who continued to try and reach him.

The phone rang for the eighteenth time that hour, Lizzie's soft and kind voice came over the line, worry evident in every single word. "Gordo, my mom told me what happened. Please tell me you're going to call me back. Give me a sign; let me know you're okay. Please, Gordo."

He rushed to pick up the phone, but the message stopped and she had hung up. Now, sitting by the phone, he paced and stared at the blinking light, saving the messages for a later time so he could keep hearing her voice. Even when she was so far away, yet right beside him. He couldn't bear to see her right now.

The newspaper headline was in big bold letters on his bed; _Head On Collision Kills Two, Leaves Four Injured_. Of course, it was strangely evident who those two people were; Howard and Roberta Gordon, the most loving and knowledgeable people in the entire universe. His parents, which had stuck with him and supported him from day one, and helped him up whenever he fell down.

Gone in an instant.

He didn't cry. The reality was that he knew it was going to happen, but he didn't know when. He wouldn't cry over this, it wasn't worth the tears. His mother had taught him it was okay, but he didn't want to yet. Not while the memory was still fresh on his mind.

He'd overcome this. He had friends to help him. He had people that would stand by his side and fight for him, right?

Miranda was going to college in the fall. She was leaving for Florida. Lizzie would stay as long as time would allow, so he could continue to heal through the grieving process, but then who knew where she was going? Gordo felt lost and hopeless.

It couldn't be that hard to overcome a loss, could it?

He turned back to the wall and stared at the image. His mother stood, holding him as an infant, with his father behind him, wearing a proud smile. They were always so proud of their child. How could he have thrown away what he had with them?

The phone rang again. He picked it up. "I'm okay." He started off with.

"Gordo, you're not okay. Your parents just died." Lizzie bit her tongue, hard, knowing she had said the wrong thing. "Please talk to me, Gordo."

"I'm fine, Lizzie." He spoke quietly, gently. "I'll be okay."

"Gordo, please don't lie for my sake." Lizzie answered, fighting back tears. "Let me come over."

"Stay where you are. I'll be okay." He faked a smile, trying to make her feel better. She couldn't see over the phone, but Lizzie always knew by his tone when he was happy. Lizzie had never seen him cry, or punch walls, or cut, or scream. He'd always been calm and depressingly happy. "Don't worry about me, okay? Graduation is in a week, you know."

"Yeah. Are you going?" She asked casually, knowing he'd changed the topic for a reason.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." He lied. "Will you be there?"

"My mom wants me to go for the sake of pictures, but I really don't want to. I'll go if you go." She frowned. "Listen, if you need me, Gordo, I'm here."

"Thanks, Lizzie…but I'll be fine. Mom and dad are in a better place now. At least they aren't suffering." He looked away, reading the headline on the paper again, for the tenth time that hour. Since he'd found out at seven that morning, he'd been finding every possible picture he had of his parents. Videos and letters, and packing them up so he'd never see them again. Gordo loves his parents, but moving on without them would be difficult. "Parents are supposed to support you in everything you do, even if it's the wrong thing…so, I support my parents."

"Gordo, this wasn't a choice…" Lizzie answered calmly. "…It was an accident."

"And it was for good reason. My parents were too good for the world to live with. Their kindness knew no bounds. The world couldn't handle that." Gordo answered, clearly in denial. "I'm sure it's okay, Lizzie."

"Are you positive? I can stop by on my way to work." She added, her voice cracking slightly at her best friend's now monotone voice. She'd never say it out loud, but she really wanted to see him and be sure he was okay.

"I'm okay, Lizzie," He chuckled slightly. "I promise."

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><p><em>I'm not okay. For seventeen years I have spent my whole life living in a world where my parents were always there, always praising me, always helping me overcome tough spots in my life. My mom, bless her soul, never gave up hope in me. She allowed me to be free with my life, and still support me endlessly. My father, the kind and loving man he was, always gave me advice and help…even when I didn't think I needed it.<em>

_But without them around, I find it more and more difficult to cope with the reality of this world. The reality is, the world sucks. It will bring you to your knees and kick your feet right out from under you. It will continue to beat you mercilessly until you can't breathe. And that's what makes this world a terrible place to live. I see why my parents left, because kindness without limits gets you nowhere. It gets you dead._

_I thought I was okay to go to the funeral. I thought I was fine. I thought I would be fine with leaving my parents behind, and then leaving high school behind. No, the situation was far less normal than I had hoped. I couldn't let go. I wasn't ready. I couldn't even go to graduation like I had promised my best friend._

_I couldn't even stop to breathe most nights._

_And every day, until two weeks after graduation, I curled in my bed at my parent's house and cried, praying I could take it all back. But they weren't coming back. They were gone forever and I couldn't accept that._

_Three months after the accident, I went with a numb body and soul to clean out what was once my childhood sanctuary. Lizzie, Matt, Miranda, and Jo had helped, promising not to leave me alone. They stood by my side as I crossed the threshold for the last time, and said goodbye to what I had always thought was going to be my life-long home._

_Miranda would laugh as she brought up some stupid memory and I would laugh back. But the pain was always evident. Lizzie knew._

_Lizzie never stopped knowing._

_She found a pendant while digging through my dresser. It had been given to me at my Bar Mitzvah by my father, having been passed down from his father, and his father before that. It was a Silver Star of David on a chain, one that my great grandfather had worn during the holocaust, having been sent to a concentration camp for six years. When he was freed, the necklace was passed through the generations until it finally stopped with me._

_I told her to throw it away._

_I never really did ask if she did or not. I never saw it again after that._

_When Jo asked me if I wanted to keep the tapes I'd made growing up, I told her no. I wanted to get rid of them. They went into a box and stayed there until no one in particular would bring it up in passing and open it up. They were nothing special to look at, if you asked me, which is why I never understood my parents' constant support of my artwork._

_Another few weeks after that, I stood across the street and watched a new family move into my childhood home. They had two children, two daughters; they seemed happy enough, so I put my hands in my pockets and walked away like it never happened._

_As of August 9__th__, 2004, I was going to move on with life and pretend I had always been this way._

_Gordo died that day with my parents. From that day on, I was David Gordon. And I would never let that change._

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><p><strong>This is written for Thomas, my brother, because Thomas is dealing with a lot right now. I understand what he's going through. In a way, the first part explains my feelings towards this story. I didn't want to post it at all; it was just a free-write for my brother. But now that I think about it, I want it to be posted. It's got a rating of T+ because it's incredibly dark, and I had felt that it may be too dark for this category. If it never goes read and it never gets reviewed, that would be fine with me. I just felt I needed to write it.<strong>

**I used Gordo because of his intelligence. As someone had once said, there's a very, very fine line between intelligence and insanity, and many people dance on that line until it snaps.**

**Welcome to the story.**

**This story is not for the faint of heart, or for people looking for fluff. You won't find it here. This is about reality and depression, and overcoming schizophrenia. This is about a real struggle with a real person – using someone else as my medium.**

**I hope you enjoy it, and maybe learn a thing or two from it. And yes, I, River Tam/Kitt Wilson…am not okay.**


	2. All That I've Got Pt 1

**All That I've Got**

_I'll be just fine pretending I'm not. I'm far from lonely, and it's all that I've got. – The Used._

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><p><em>August 14<em>_th__, 2004 – Anger_

_My parents were psychiatrists. I don't need someone sitting here and telling me I'm suffering. I already know I'm suffering. The problem is I really don't care anymore. I want to stop myself and say it's not okay, and what I'm doing is hurting the people around me, but it's like my mind and my body aren't connected right now. It's like my mind says stop and my hands continue to move._

_There's this hunger in me, feeding off the anger inside, that I can't stop myself from hurting anyone. Lizzie asked to help me. I told her to leave and go as far away as possible. Of the thousands of people who come and go, I don't want her caught in the crossfire. I love her too much._

_I feel like I'm broken and there's no way to piece together what I'm missing. There's a tiny piece of the puzzle hidden somewhere that I can't replace. I feel like my world fell apart and the only key is elsewhere, on an uncharted island that I can never reach. _

_Most days, it's a task just to remember to breathe, let alone live._

_I've had people come up to me and say that I'm suffering from the Kübler Ross model. I'm not stupid, I know what that is._

_When my grandfather died, I had asked my mom what was wrong with my grandmother. I didn't understand it then, I was too young. My mom explained it to me as the 'Stages of Grief'; denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and acceptance. Admittedly, I don't know where I fall right now. I know that right now, doing anything alone seems like a task, and I have never, in my life, wanted my parents as badly as I do now._

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><p>Gordo watched the clock ticking on the wall, his eyes dark, shadowed, and saggy. He hadn't been sleeping. He wasn't really even hungry. The pen tapped nervously in his hand as he watched the clock. He <em>should <em>be writing a final paper. He _should _be worried about his grades. But for some reason, that was the furthest thing on his mind right now.

Actually, there wasn't a "some reason", he knew the reason loud and clear. He just didn't care. The valedictorian had failed and wasn't allowed to walk because he skipped his finals, and now he was stuck sitting in summer school, finishing classes that he'd been through before.

Not that he cared.

Lizzie stood in the doorway and watched, worry passing every so often across her concerned green eyes. He looked away sharply and began to write again. This was an easy topic, it was advanced chemistry, one of the few classes he and Lizzie _didn't _have together the last year of high school. He scribbled down notes and looked up at the clock again. Five minutes had passed. Five whole minutes that felt like an eternity.

He threw the pen down and stared at the teacher, Mr. Barnes. "I'm sorry. I can't do it. I can't find it in my heart to care right now."

"David, I know you lost your parents, and I know coping with loss is very difficult, but you should be concerned about your school work as well. You're a brilliant student, and your mind is far more advanced than anyone else, this should be easy for you." Mr. Barnes answered, staring at Gordo with a concerned expression. "Do you need an extension? I can allow you more time so you can grieve."

"Stop feeling sorry for me!" He snapped. "I've been living on my own for a year now, I can do it for the rest of my life, too!"

Lizzie took a step back when he came towards the door. "Gordo…"

"And you!" He turned on her, his dark blue eyes menacing. "Do you _have _to babysit me constantly? I'm _fine. _I don't need you watching over me all the time!"

Lizzie shrank back into the background, staring blankly as he walked away. "Gordo, you're not fine. You're upset."

He turned on his heel and glared at her, his voice cracking. "Oh, really? Is that what this pain is? I thought I was just joking around." He muttered something, clenching his fists. "You still have everything you ever needed, Lizzie. I lost all of that in one single night. And you know where I was when it happened? _With you_."

She paused and thought about it, the words echoing in her mind over and over again. He was right, she would never understand his loss, not until her parents were gone, too. But she suddenly felt a wave of grief wash over her when he uttered the last two words. He was with her. They were on a date. She stared down at her feet and took another step back, wanting to avoid conflict. "I may not understand, Gordo, but I have a feeling I know—"

She flinched when his fist connected with the locker, bending it inwards on itself. She continued to step backwards until she hit the wall and pressed her back hard against it, wanting to be nowhere near him. "You _don't _know, Lizzie! You _don't _know what it's like to run away from your family because you feel like they're controlling you. To say goodbye and know they'll still be there, only to turn around and lose them. You _don't _know how terrible I feel because the last thing I said to my mother was; _I'm sorry mom, I won't be home for dinner tonight, just eat without me_."

"I get it, okay? You're grieving, and you need someone to blame for your loss, and I'm an easy target. Fine, say what you want to say to me, but damnit, Gordo! Don't do this alone! You need someone to support you." She bit her lip and looked away as he came closer to her. She didn't want to share the same fate as that locker had. "You said you loved me. Let me help you."

"Help me? Are you deranged, Lizzie? You caused this! You're the reason that they're gone! If I hadn't been with you, they would have never left the house, and they would still be alive right now. Both of them, Lizzie. I didn't lose just _one_ parent, I lost _everything_." His lip trembled but he didn't cry. His blue eyes became dark and full of water. "I was _orphaned_ that night."

"I can't take that back, Gordo. I can't make your parents live again. I can't take back the hours you spent in sadness, alone in your room, wishing for the right time. I can't help you any more than you can." She turned to look away, blonde hair falling to cover her face. She didn't speak for a long time. "Let me help you overcome this, Gordo. Let me be there for you."

"You can help me by never speaking to me again." Gordo murmured, raising a hand.

Lizzie turned sharply, closing her eyes tight. He was angry, she could feel it in his words. He wouldn't hit her, would he? He loved her, right? His hand stopped to press hard against the wall. She turned to look at him, her green eyes full of tears. "Don't do this alone."

"I'm not alone. Trust me." He whispered sadly. "I'll never be alone."

"Are…you okay?" Lizzie inquired, standing a little taller since he was calmer. He was a breath away from her face, she wanted to kiss him, but she knew it wasn't a good time. She pressed a hand gently to his chest and stared into his blue eyes, calculating his moves. "Gordo…?"

"Stop calling me _Gordo_. He doesn't exist anymore." He answered, pushing off the wall and walking away. "I mean it, Elizabeth. Don't ever speak to me again."

She turned away, her eyes downcast. He walked away from her, fists still clenched, speaking softly. She didn't speak for a long time. "I'm going to help you!"

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><p><em>That was the last time I step foot in that school. I never went back to finish my classes. I received my diploma in the mail shortly after I left, most likely due to the sympathy of my instructors. I never did speak to Lizzie again after that. I know she meant well, now that I look at it. But I can't remember if maybe I was wrong about her the whole time.<em>

_Mom used to tell me that the bravest thing anyone can do is hug you in the middle of a fight and say they love you. Lizzie loved me. I loved her. But I couldn't let her fall into this mess I was creating._

_Lizzie…_

_If you ever read this one day, then just know…I love you, too._

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><p><strong>AN: Just to clarify, the journals are spoken in such a way that they don't make sense. This is because Gordo is actually writing it after the fact – remember, he's writing a story. Thus, these are bits and pieces of memories, written long after he realized he was sick. He's basically reciting his life in a journal, date by date. <strong>

**I'm going to go through the six stages of grief before I continue with the story.**

**Read and review.**


	3. All That I've Got Pt 2

**All That I've Got Pt. 2**

_"A man dies ... only a few circles in the water prove that he was ever there. And even they quickly disappear. And when they're gone, he's forgotten, without a trace, as if he'd never even existed. And that's all." - Wolfgang Brochert_

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><p><em>August 16<em>_th__ – Bargaining_

_I've noticed that as time goes by, the hurt dulls and ebbs in the distance, an ember slowly glowing with a bright voracity to show me I'm still alive. Pain makes you feel, you know? It makes you realize that you may feel dead inside, but the fire keeps you alive. That's the funny part. Something was keeping me alive._

_I wanted to die. I gave everything I could to bring the bullets. Every single time I would load the chamber, my hands would stop me. I guess it was because I wasn't brave, or I felt I had more to live for. Maybe it was because in reality, I knew someone cared, even if I didn't. It's never easy losing someone; it's never easy losing everything. But there are always going to be times in life when it happens._

_And when it does, trust me, you won't be prepared for it._

_I've given so much to the world, I feel like taking it all back. Like I can change the outcome if I close my eyes and think hard enough._

_By this point in my life, I felt like I was heading for the next stage in this uphill battle. I was finally facing the bargaining stage. I'd been here before, when everything first happened. But it came back and hit me full force, between the eyes, with what I thought was going to be an easy experience._

_The world came to a strange new place, a peace washed over me in that instant._

_The world would be better off without me._

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><p>Gordo sat in his apartment reading the headlines again. He couldn't bring himself to admit what had just happened. The blade sat beside the paper, crimson blood trickling down the shiny silver blade until it fell like tears onto the paper, staining it red.<p>

It was fitting, he thought, to have the paper stained red, considering the circumstances.

"They aren't coming back," He stared at himself in the mirror, his reflection staring back. "They're gone forever."

"But what if I could change that?" His reflection asked back.

He raised a brow and watched, his mind reeling with possibilities. "How can you change that? Are you magical? Can you bring back the dead? Don't be stupid."

"Says the man talking to his reflection in the mirror," his reflection answered back. "What if you gave your life in place of theirs?"

Gordo paused and thought about it. "Wouldn't that be fitting? Then we all lose, don't we? And what about Lizzie?"

"What about her?" The man in the mirror asked, smile twisting into something far more sinister. "Lizzie left, remember?"

"I told her to leave," He argued. "She listened. It was for her own protection. I don't know what I'm capable of right now."

"David," His reflection asked. "What if you did take your life? Then you could be with your parents again. It would be like they never left. You could see them again, and pretend nothing ever happened. Isn't that what you were wishing for?"

Gordo began to walk through the dark apartment, his reflection following him on each of the windows as he paced. "Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Do it," He argued. "Feel the sweet agony of losing all your blood. Do it, David. Take the pain away."

Gordo picked up the knife again and studied it in the dark candle light. He ran a finger gingerly along the blade and wiped the blood off. "It would be easy, wouldn't it?"

His reflection nodded and smiled, creepy and grim. "It would be easy, David. Easier than tying your shoes. Or opening a box. It would be the most rewarding experience you could ever live through. Do it, David. Feel that sweet release."

He touched the blade again, frowning. "But it won't bring them back," He argued. "They're gone now. They aren't coming back. They never will."

"So don't bring them back. Go to them." His reflection countered. "Do it, David. What have you got to lose?"

"My life, for one." He started, and then touched the blade again. He touched it to his skin on his wrist, feeling fear for the first time. That was when he felt, for the first time, he could do this. He pressed the blade deeper into his arm and pulled it up, until blood began to trickle onto the floor. He didn't smile, he didn't laugh, and he just closed his eyes and waited for the sharp sting to go away.

And before he knew it, he was on the floor unconscious.

And that's where Lizzie had found him.

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><p>Lizzie sat by the hospital bed, waiting for him to wake up. The doctor had said he lost quite an amount of blood before she found him. Judging by the stain on his apartment floor, she'd be willing to bet that the man was right. She bit her lip and watched the monitor bleeping. How could something so terrible happen to someone so nice?<p>

"I remember David," the man murmured as he walked into the hospital suite. "His parents were colleagues of mine."

Lizzie looked up at him, her green eyes curious. "Did you know them well?"

"Remarkably," He answered. "His father always spoke so highly of his son. Last I recall talking to him, roughly six months ago, he'd commented that David was valedictorian. Imagine my surprise when I found out later that he never graduated."

Lizzie folded her hands together and began to whimper softly. "He's the smartest person I know."

"David was raised in a peculiar environment," the doctor continued, pacing the floor beside her. "He was raised by two middle-aged parents; they were already quite old when he was born. Thus, they knew he would be a treasure to them. But Roberta and Howard, they never got angry with him. They were always patient and kind."

Lizzie nodded. "Yes, they were incredibly loving and kind."

"They supported him unconditionally. That's one thing about them I can always say with great knowledge. David was, for all intents and purposes, a genius. He still is," the Doctor continued. "People with a lot of knowledge balance a very fine line, as I'm sure you've been told."

The blonde read his nametag and nodded. "Yes, but what has that got to do with anything, Dr. Monroe?"

"Well, the behavior he's exhibiting is not far from the Kübler-Ross model. The five stages of grief. He's likely cycling into bargaining now. _Just one more moment_ or _I'd give my life to see them again_. It's the one stage that never fully goes away as you heal. And, for him, the healing process could take years. It could take months. Who knows?" Monroe continued, sitting beside Lizzie, his gray eyes watching the sleeping man with the bandage wrapped around his arm tightly. "The point is that smarter people, the ones who are more intellectual and open to the world, are always the hardest hit by grief."

Lizzie blinked, staring at Gordo, afraid to touch him for fear of breaking him.

"When they get hit by something that knocks them off their balance, its over. The world crashes, and that thin wire snaps." He murmured, looking to Lizzie for reassurance. "So now, instead of a balancing act, he's dangling off a ledge holding onto one thin line. And that thin line," he walked away from Lizzie, gray eyes calculating. "Is you."

"Me?" Lizzie shouted. "I can't save anyone!"

"No, but you're always there, aren't you?" He mumbled, walking around her. "You never left, and you always came back. And that's what he's counting on. He's counting on you to keep saving him. He can't save himself, that's for sure, or else he would have never done what he did. Ergo, you're his lifeline to reality."

"I don't want to be _anyone's_ reason to live!" Lizzie shouted.

"But you are," He answered. "And as long as you're around, he'll try to live. Notice, of course, it was as soon as you left that he did this, was it not?"

Lizzie nodded sadly, starting to feel nauseous. "What's your point?"

"He needs you as badly as you need him," The doctor answered, standing in the doorway and observing the two patients. "But, of course, that's entirely up to you. Insanity isn't very easy to deal with, and it isn't for the faint of heart. But you, my dear, can save him. You have the tools, just learn the skills to use them."

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><p><em>I didn't know what was going to happen from that point. Fear was always the first thing on my mind in the mornings. I could hear Lizzie speaking to me on a daily basis, trying to tell me all the great things about life. I couldn't find a single one to cling to. Not as long as I was still in this bloody mess.<em>

_Pieces of me were scattered all over the floor in my mind. They were broken and slivered, and harder to find and pick up as I went. Dusty fragments of what was once my life were blown away like dust in the wind, and from that point on, who was I to stop anything?_

_I never told her, but she saved me…_

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><p><strong>AN: Hands down, this is <strong>_**the **_**most graphic and depressing chapter I've written so far.**


	4. Lightening

**Lightning**

"A few checkmarks, some official signatures, another name added to a list of people gone…all that's left to prove he ever existed in this world." – Unknown

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><p>August 19th 2004– Denial<p>

_By this point in my life, I was pretty sure I was just living in a fantasy. Something my mind had created just to get me through the day. It was all a sick joke and everyone else was playing along to get me to snap. I was positive that this was all just a dream created from some convoluted fantasy about what would happen without my parents. _

_Six weeks into this and I realized I was not well. I was far from being the same person I had always been. And there was nothing I could do to stop this new and interesting change. I couldn't very well admit I had a problem; I was on my own now. I had to face up to it on my own terms._

_That was the problem._

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><p>Gordo paused only for a moment to study his sordid reflection in the glass windowpane outside of Hartman Enterprises. He was on his way to an interview, his blue eyes unusually brighter than they had been the last few weeks. Hartman had heard from one of Gordo's teachers that he was incredibly skilled in his craft, he had inquired about samples, to which the instructor gladly sent. Hartman was blown away by the quality of work done by a mere eighteen year old.<p>

Hartman had called immediately to speak with David, inquiring about the possibility of working out an internship with the company, to which Gordo enthusiastically accepted, without much thought or delay.

He gingerly took a sip of the tepid coffee, and pushing his hat back onto his head. The blue eyed boy stared for an eternity at the man in the reflection, unsure of whom this new creature was. He was brave and bold, but the last few days had rendered Gordo defenseless and shy. This new character was stronger than him, and his smile was sincere…but Gordo's own smile seemed to be lacking any sincerity. Who was this new person?

Gordo blinked a few times and looked down at his watch to see what time it was, shaking his head. Twenty minutes early. He pushed his sunglasses back on and walked into the large building, reading the list of names across the walls; different companies that had worked with this supposed company. He smiled a little at the few he recognized, and then pushed through the double glass doors into the foyer full of delicate flowers and vases.

There, at the end of the hall, sat the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life. Her finger was tangled in the cord of the phone as she spoke to whomever was on the other end, her green eyes staring skyward, to share her disgust with the world. Her long brunette hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She stopped to stare at Gordo, hanging up the phone without as much as a goodbye. "Can I help you?"

Gordo swallowed hard and nodded. "My name is David Gordon; I'm here for an interview?"

The girl stood to reveal her slim figure; clearly she was venomous about keeping her image. She waved a perfectly manicured hand at him and nodded. "Follow me, Mr. Gordon."

Gordo blinked several times, blue eyes showing just a small hint of tears. "Mr. Gordon is my dad. Just call me David."

She paused in a doorway and stared back at him. "Sure, whatever." Shaking her head, the girl climbed several sets of steps that Gordo couldn't quite understand considering she was in stilettos. She came to another smaller hallway with pictures adorning the wall; mostly black and white in an Ansell Adams type style. The very last frame was an image of a girl, much younger, who looked suspiciously like the girl in front of him. She tapped three times on the door and stood back.

The elderly man opened the door, smiling graciously at the young woman. "Thank you, Maria."

Maria bowed slightly and turned to leave, closing the doors at the end of the hall. The elderly man smiled to Gordo and inquired that he follows. "Mr. Gordon, you've been in the film arts for several years now, have you not?"

Gordo nodded, sitting in a chair across from the man's desk. He read the placard on the front that had _Hartman _scrawled in neat scribe. "Since I was old enough to hold a camera."

"I've felt very enlightened reviewing your work, Mr. Conway recommends you with high honors. He says you were the best film student he had in years." The man tapped a pen on the desk. "I'd have to say he wasn't misinformed."

Gordo sat a little straighter and smiled a little, his confidence growing. "Is that why you called me here? To praise my work?"

"Not at all," The man smiled. "As I'm sure you know, every year or so, we choose some deserving students and allow them to intern here. If they're good at what they do and we like what we see, we hire them full time. Is that something you would be interested in?"

"Of course!"Gordo shouted, standing to his feet. "I would love that!"

He produced some papers from inside his desk and laid them flat on the mahogany finish. "Well, read this over carefully and sign the bottom portion." As Gordo read the paper, he looked at the boy with a small frown, trepidation finally becoming clear. "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your parents."

"My parents are fine, they'll understand," Gordo murmured, never taking his eyes off the page as he spoke. "Mom would be overjoyed. She was so excited to see me get accepted into film school. Academy of the arts, it's quite amazing."

The elderly man raised a brow and slid the papers back towards him after Gordo signed them. "Indeed. Your parents must be so proud of you."

"The photograph in the hallway, closest to your door…is that the woman at the reception counter?" Gordo ventured, hoping he didn't bring up bad memories.

"No, that was my beloved daughter Sonia. She died in a fire in 1998; the girl at the desk is Sonia's best friend, Maria." The man answered. He brushed the question off as if it was nothing and smiled to Gordo again, offering his hand. "Glad to have you aboard, Mr. Gordon."

"Mr. Gordon is so formal for someone my age…please, don't call me that."

"What would you prefer?" Hartman asked.

Gordo paused and thought hard about it, his blue eyes staring skyward. He smiled and looked at the man with a tiny smirk. "Asher would be just fine."

"Asher?"

"It's time for a new beginning," Gordo answered, turning to walk away. "It's time I let Asher shine."

* * *

><p><em>Asher ruined my life, but I didn't know it then. He was the worst thing that ever happened to me, and by the time I realized what I had put into motion, it was far too late to stop it myself.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm using my brother's laptop. Mine crashed. There's some stuff going on. Life got in the way. Updates won't be happening for a while. Let's just say I'm very close to offing myself right now, and leave it at that. You guys don't need details, I'm sure…<strong>

**I also updated "Don't Call Me Daddy" a week or so ago, but no one has reviewed the recent chapter. I presume no one's read it, so until I can get back into writing, let that whet your whistle. I know I promised to re-write Star of David, but I won't be able to do it as planned right now. I'm sorry about that...I'll get it done ASAP; I'll post a note when I get to it.**


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